


Strobe

by Lexalicious70



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-05
Updated: 2005-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a smiple lie leads to Clark's abduction and captivity, only Lex can bring him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strobe

## Strobe

by Shaman 

<http://www.shamanswatchtower.bravehost.com>

* * *

Strobe   
Author: Shaman   
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Clark/Lex Clark/other   
Summary: When a simple lie leads to Clark's abduction, Lex is the only one who can bring him home. Category: Non-con, Hurt/Comfort, First Time (Additional warning: takes place at the end of season one, Clark is just turning sixteen, may squick some readers because of his young age and no, I certainly don't condone child porn. It's just fiction. Be WARNED HOWEVER!! This story deals with sensitive issues such as rape and child abduction. If such things offend or upset you, PLEASE do not read further. Consider yourself warned. If you ignore the warning and are offended enough to flame me, you'll get back a form letter saying "Told you so." Disclaimer: Do I own them? Don't I wish. Smallville and Superman belong to DC Comics and Millar/Gough _Bowing and tugging forelock in reverence_ I make no profit from this fiction. Feedback: Applause and brickbats at twotrails4860@yahoo.com. Need a beta? Contact me as well. This one's for Sissy, whose offhand remark about Clark, handcuffs and a very dark room gave me ideas; for the occasional push (or rough shove, depending,) in the right direction, and for the constant exercise of my very active muses. _Hug_ Thanks, girl! 

Strobe   
By Shaman 

"No. Absolutely not." 

Clark reached for the maple syrup and looked across the kitchen table at his father. Jonathan Kent was shaking his head as if to add emphasis to his words. Clark groaned inwardly as he doused his waffles with the syrup and looked up at his dad through thick, sooty lashes, his bright green eyes pleading. 

"Come on dad, please? I'll be sixteen next month and I'll be getting my driver's license . . . I need a car!" 

Jonathan sipped his coffee and fielded the pleading look he got from his wife on their son's behalf as she sat down at the table next to him. Martha's lips thinned, but she remained silent as she buttered her toast. 

"Clark, we've been over this before, son. You don't need a car, you just think you need a car and there's a big difference. With the price of gas being what it is right now and with the added cost of insurance for a driver your age, we just can't afford it." 

"I'll get a job after school." Clark bargained, and Jonathan shook his head again. 

"You know that we need your help around this farm, and that I just can't spare you like that. I'm sorry, son. Now look . . . we already agreed that when you get your driver's license that you can drive the pickup whenver you need it, right?" 

"Well yeah, but if I need it and you're using it, what then?" Clark demanded, and Martha reached over to pat his hand. 

"Don't worry, Clark. We'll work something out, okay? I promise." 

Clark sighed as he thought of the bright, shining pickup that Whitney Fordman drove around town, and how he usually had Lana Lang with him. Clark doubted that Lana would be impressed by Clark's current set of wheels, a faded red and yellow skateboard with duct tape wrapped around its worn body. Lana obviously enjoyed riding with Whitney in his truck, and Clark knew that she'd have to notice him if he had a vehicle as well. His classmate, Ricky Brooks, had told him that his older brother had a late-model pickup truck for sale and Clark had jumped at the offer. He had exactly four hundred dollars in his savings account, which he thought might do for a good down payment. After that, he could make monthly payments. However, when he'd asked his dad to sign the paper that would allow him to withdraw the money, Jonathan had refused. 

"If you'd let me keep the truck that Lex wanted to give me-" Clark began, and Jonathan silenced him with a look. The family ate the rest of the meal in silence and when he was finished, Clark got up from the table and grabbed his backpack from the table near the door. He was gone in a blur a moment later, before either of his parents could say goodbye. Jonathan sighed and sipped his coffee. 

"He just doesn't understand that he'll need the money that he has in the bank for college in a few years. He can't just throw it away on some used pickup truck that he doesn't really need." 

"I know, but Jonathan . . . it's important for a boy Clark's age to fit in. He sees his friends and older boys at school driving their own vehicles, it's only natural that he wants to as well." 

Jonathan nodded in sympathy, "I understand how he feels Martha, but I can't let him waste his college fund. Besides, I bet you that in a few weeks he'll have forgotten all about it." 

* * *

" Young people wanted for advertising opportunity, no experience necessary. Make five hundred to a thousand dollars in just one day, future employment possible! Apply in person at Rush Light Productions, Metropolis." Clark looked up from the bright yellow flyer that was stapled to a tree just outside the front gate of Smallville High. The three p.m. bell had just rung, signaling the end of the day. Kids were streaming out of the school, unlocking bikes from bike racks, climbing onto buses or into their parent's cars that idled at the curb. Clark glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then cut around the back of the school. To his left in the distance, Clark could hear the steady pop of tennis balls, the thudding of basketballs and the shouts of cheerleaders running through their routines out on the athletics field. He turned away from that and broke into super-speed, cutting through a wide field and eventually meeting two-lane blacktop, the road that would take him to Route Eighteen and Metropolis. He would go interview for the job and be home in time for supper with his parents none the wiser. The thought of keeping anything from them made him hesitate, but surely his father wouldn't object if he earned the money himself, even if he told his dad after the fact. If the flyer was right he'd have enough for the down payment on the pickup, plus enough for several extra payments. With the flyer clutched tightly in his hand, Clark headed for the city. 

When Clark arrived at the address that was printed on the flyer for Rush Light Productions, he frowned a little. He had expected an office in a large building or even a tower, but the advertising company looked like little more than a white two-story house in one of the city's middle-class areas. There was nothing on the outside of the building to indicate a business, so Clark rang the doorbell. A moment later in swung open to reveal a tall, heavy man with sallow skin and long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. A cigarette dangled from his right hand. 

"Whatcha want, kid?" He barked in a smoke-lined tone, and Clark held out the flyer. 

"Is this Rush Light Productions?" He asked, and the man's demeanor changed instantly. He smiled and nodded. 

"Here for an interview?" He asked, his flat gray eyes flicking up and down Clark's length. Clark nodded. 

"The ad says five hundred to a thousand dollars in one day?" 

"That's right, kid. Come on in." The man stepped aside, allowing Clark into the front parlor. It was cluttered with high-tech video equipment, cameras, and stacks and stacks of video tapes. Clark smiled. 

"I was afraid I had the wrong address. It didn't look much like a business from the outside." 

"We try to keep a low profile here . . . you know, to protect our clients." 

"Oh, sure." Clark nodded, and the man took a drag of his cigarette. 

"You ever do any modeling before, kid?" 

Clark shifted his weight nervously. "No, not exactly. But the flyer says I don't need any experience." 

"That's right. I think the photos and films are more authentic-looking if the boys in them are inexperienced." The big man's eyes flicked over Clark's form again. "Big." He said softly. "Big, tall . . . real good looking." Clark blushed, and the man chuckled. "Shy, too." He stuck his hand out. "You can call me Samuels. I own the company." 

"Clark Kent. From Smallville." 

"I would never have guessed." Samuel said dryly, taking in Clark's faded jeans and red plaid flannel shirt. "But that's just fine, Clark . . . because I have ways of changing you. I've changed other young men in the past, and believe me, their lives were never the same after they left Rush Light Productions. Come on, sit down, and we'll have a little Q and A before we get into any actual shooting." 

Clark glanced at his watch. "I have to be home by six." 

Samuels grinned. "How old are you, son?" 

Clark hesitated and then ventured, "Eighteen." 

Samuel's eyebrows shot up, questioning. 

"Almost eighteen." Clark amended. After all, he'd be sixteen the following month, and sixteen wasn't too far from eighteen. Besides, he didn't want to lose this job by being too young. 

"Okay, so you're almost eighteen and looking to make some money." The big man went to a mini-fridge in the corner and withdrew a frosted mug and a can of soda. He popped the tab on the can and poured it into the mug as he smiled at Clark around his cigarette. 

"Yeah I guess so . . . I'm trying to raise some money for this truck I want to buy." He explained as Samuels brought the glass of cola over and handed it to him. It was cool and frothy, and Clark sipped it. "Thanks." 

"Sure." Samuels smiled. "So you're looking to buy a truck?" 

Clark nodded and drank half his soda. "What do you do here? The flyer said advertising?" 

"Advertising, photos, commercials, independent films and photos, I'm into a lot of different aspects of the business, Clark. I've made a lot of boys your age quite successful, and I can do it for you." 

"How?" Clark asked, and very suddenly his eyelids refused to stay open all the way. He sat up a little and rubbed his eyes with one hand, but the sleepy feeling persisted. Samuels sat beside him on the couch and gently took the frosted glass from his other hand. 

"Are you feeling all right, Clark?" He asked, and Clark blinked. He was sinking back onto the couch almost before he realized it, and opened his mouth to answer the big man when his brain flickered and shut down, plunging him into darkness. 

Samuels grinned and stroked the boy's thick, dark hair. "How indeed, Clark . . . how indeed." 

* * *

_Two days later_

Jonathan Kent slammed the telephone down in pure frustration and helplessness as he listened to his wife cry into her hands at the kitchen table. 

"What kind of a Sheriff makes the parents of a missing child wait forty-eight hours before allowing them to file a missing persons report?" He shouted, and then Martha's sobs deflated his rage. He went to her and put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently. "Martha . . . Martha, sweetheart . . . shhhh." 

"He's been gone for two days, Jonathan! How does a boy like Clark just vanish coming home from school? You know that no one could have hurt him, he couldn't have had any kind of accident . . . " Martha raised her head and wiped her red, swollen eyes, but Jonathan didn't miss the accusation in her tone. 

"You think that he ran off because of the argument we had at breakfast the other morning? Martha, that's crazy!" 

"Is it, Jonathan? You wouldn't let him explain his position; you just let him know that the subject was closed! You saw how angry he was when he left!" 

"Clark wouldn't run off over something as silly as a used pickup truck." He argued, and scowled as he remembered the skeptical expression on Sheriff Adam's craggy face when he'd told her the same thing. "We need to quit assuming that he ran off and look at other options!" 

"What other options, Jonathan? Clark couldn't have been abducted or injured. The only thing that can hurt him are meteor rocks, and no one but us knows that!" 

Jonathan ran a hand through his blond hair and closed his eyes briefly. "Maybe I should go over the route Clark takes home from school one more time, just in case I missed anything." He went to his wife and took her hand. "Come on. Come with me, and we'll find him. I swear it." 

Martha nodded and stood up to lean against her husband. "Lex called earlier . . . he said he has a group of private detectives looking into Clark's case as well, and he's exploring every option that he can think of." Her blue eyes were haunted. "He said that he prays that Clark can beat the hard facts of child abduction." 

Jonathan frowned down at her. "What's that mean, Martha?" 

Her tortured eyes turned up to his own. "Lex said that when children are abducted, there's very little chance of having them safely returned after the first twenty-four hours. After that . . . " Martha shrugged and more tears spilled down her cheeks. "After that, they're usually never seen alive again." 

* * *

Lex Luthor stood at the window of his executive suite at the Metropolis Heights Hotel, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the city. Twilight was approaching, bathing the bustling city in hues of soft purples and blues. The sun was little more than a thin red sliver on the horizon. This was the time of day Lex liked best; the bulk of the day at an end, yet the approach of the evening filling him with a restless energy that often drove him until midnight or even later. The nights were always full of possibilities for Lex and he usually sought them with enthusiasm, but tonight the clubs and their endless temptations were far from his mind. Instead, he gazed out over the scatter of lights below him and rested a pale hand on the window. 

"Where are you, Clark?" He whispered, his throat closing in grief that he refused to accept. He turned away from the window and went to the mini-bar, where he poured himself a generous shot of scotch. The fine liquor coated his throat and left a soothing burn in his stomach. Lex licked his lips and set the tumbler down, his thoughts chasing after each other like a puppy chasing it's own tail. Clark had been missing for a little over forty-eight hours now, and neither Clark's parents nor that incompetent excuse for a sheriff in Smallville had any leads as to where he might have gone. Lex didn't buy the theory that Clark had run off over an argument that he had had with his father; the boy was extremely loyal to his adoptive parents and he would no more run away from Smallville than he would suddenly throw away his flannel shirts and begin to wear Versachi. That conclusion led Lex to face the only other option- that Clark had been abducted. It wasn't impossible . . . Smallville was the quintessential close-knit community, meteor-shower related mishaps aside, but according to the research Lex had done, over one dozen teenagers had either been abducted or had run away from Smallville over the past twenty years. None of them had ever been recovered. Out of those dozen, six had vanished in the springtime, just as Clark had now. Many people began to drift through Smallville at this time of year, looking for summer work on the many farms that dotted the community. 

"A drifter." Lex said to himself as he poured himself another scotch. As difficult as it was to imagine, Clark may have been assaulted by one of these people on his way home from school, brutalized, and dumped somewhere to die. Lex's hand tightened around the tumbler. 

"No. There must be something that I've overlooked. Something-" Lex grabbed his suit coat from a nearby chair and left the suite as he dug his car keys from his pants pocket. He had to return to Smallville, before it was too late for his young friend. 

* * *

Clark awoke in darkness that was blacker than a moonless night. He blinked, shook his head weakly, and then groaned aloud as the tendons in his neck screamed in protest at the motion. His head throbbed behind his eyes, and he realized with a sickening kind of fright that his powers had vanished. Panic gripped him, and he cried out for help. 

"Someone? Someone please, help me!" 

A small circle of pale light flickered at his cry and grew brighter as it approached, and Clark peered up to see Samuels standing there. He held a candle in one hand and a bucket in the other. As he set the bucket down Clark lunged weakly away from him, only to find that he was shackled by his right ankle to an iron ring the concrete wall by a length of short chain. He pulled at it with both hands, and Samuels chuckled. 

"Unless you can snap steel with your bare hands, don't bother." He reached into the bucket and withdrew a small sponge, which he used to squeeze water over Clark's body. Clark flinched and shuddered as the lukewarm water hit his skin, and he realized that he was naked. 

"What's going on? Where am I?" He asked softly, hugging himself as water dripped down his arms and chest. Samuel smiled and squeezed out more water over Clark's shivering body. 

"Five hundred to one thousand dollars in one day. Kiddo, you might have lied to me about being eighteen, but you sure didn't lie about being from Smallville. Only a farmer's kid would be that gullible." 

"What do you mean?" Clark asked in a small voice, and the fat man sat back on his heels. 

"You mean you still don't know what's going on here?" Samuels laughed heartily. "The money was a lure, sweetie . . . a lure to bring dumb kids like you to my doorstep." 

"What do you want with me?" Clark asked, trying to pull away from the man as he ran a hand down Clark's arm. Samuel tightened his grip on Clark's wrist and yanked him closer in order to unlock the shackle around his ankle. There was a low, muted jangling noise and Clark felt cold steel snap around his wrists. Samuels yanked on a chain attached to the links connecting the shackles, and Clark was forced to his feet. He tried to pull away, but he felt weak and sick. His powers were gone, but why? How long had he been unconscious? Was he still in Metropolis, and did his family and friends even know that he was missing yet? Samuels gave a sharp tug on the chain and Clark stumbled forward. A harsh bright light washed over him suddenly and he blinked, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Samuels' thick hand closed over the back of his neck and forced him to his knees. Clark could hear his own breathing, harsh and frightened, and then a sob that wasn't his own echoed through the room. He opened his eyes to see a boy a year or two older than him shackled to the wall in front of him. Samuels stood behind them with a video camera on a tripod, and Clark's eyes widened as the reality of what was happening hit him with a mental noise akin to a train wreck. He scrambled to his feet, his green eyes huge. The blond boy shackled to the wall continued to sob. As the red light on the camera began to blink, Samuels donned a leather mask and wrapped the length of chain welded to Clark's handcuffs tightly around his hand, forcing the boy close. 

"No!" Clark cried, and a thin leather whip appeared seemingly out of nowhere to crack across his bare shoulders. He cried out in pain and shock, and Samuels dragged him close to the other boy. 

"Relax Clark honey, this is your big break!" The fat man grinned through his mask and brought Clark to his knees once more, his mouth inches from the other boy's crotch. Clark struggled and Samuels tangled a hand in Clark's thick black hair, guiding him until the blond youth's erection prodded against his lips. 

"No, no . . . " Clark panted, and the whip snapped against his shoulders again. His body jerked and he felt a sticky warmth drip down his bare back. What little strength he had left him then and he submitted, crying softly as Samuels pressed his lips against the other boy's erection. 

"You should be excited Clark . . . with that body and those puppy-dog eyes, you're going to make me a fortune. See that camera?" Samuels leaned closer to Clark's ear and tongued it gently before he whispered. "It's connected to a live feed that uploads directly onto my website. It's triple-encoded and highly secure . . . two hundred bucks for a thirty minute clip, the best live-action real time underage gay porn on the net. And you, sweet thing, are my newest star." Samuels pinched Clark's nose shut until the helpless teenager gasped for air. He then forced Clark's head forward roughly; making sure the boy's face was in full view of the automatic camera. Fluid whirring sounds echoed off the walls off the basement as timed digital cameras mounted on the ceiling clicked, making still photos for Samuel's mail-order business. Clark moaned as he was forced to swallow thick, hard flesh, and Samuels grinned. 

"Welcome to Rush Light Productions, kid." 

* * *

"Really Mr. Luthor, I don't know what else I can tell you. If there's anything else you'd like to know, I've already spoken to Sheriff Adams and perhaps you could contact her." Mr. Couiller, the vice-principal of Smallville High, shifted nervously in his swivel chair as Lex stared at him from across the large oak desk that separated them. The small, balding man fussed with some papers that lay on the large green blotter, and Lex leaned forward slightly. 

"I've read your statements to the sheriff and I believe them." Lex said quietly. "After all, you wouldn't have any reason to lie." 

"Of course not!" Mr. Couiller snapped, setting the papers aside and looking down through his round, steel-rimmed glasses at Lex. "And I've already explained that once our students leave the school grounds, we are no longer responsible-" 

"That's what the school board's lawyers have told you to tell anyone who asks, I understand." Lex interrupted smoothly. "And of course I'm not here to blame you for Clark Kent's disappearance. I'm just a concerned friend of the Kent family, who are obviously very distraught at their only son's abduction." 

The little man shifted in his chair again. "The police still haven't ruled out that the boy might have run away-" 

"That's nonsense. Clark is a straight A student with proud, hard-working parents and a very stable home life. There would have been no reason for him to have run away." 

"Perhaps Clark had some trouble that his parents weren't aware of." Mr. Couiller said crisply, and cleared his throat loudly. "Mr. Luthor, we're very sorry of course for what's happened to The Kents and we do hope that Clark turns up alive and well, but there's really nothing else I can tell you. Clark attended all of his classes on Monday the sixth, and was last seen at a little after three p.m., just outside the front gate. That's all we know. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a school board meeting to attend." 

"Of course." Lex replied, and got to his feet. "Thank you for your time." As he left the office and stepped out into the hall the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day. The doors that lined the hallway all seemed to swing open at once, and the hallway was suddenly jammed with teenagers. Lex walked along with the flow, ignoring some of the startled looks aimed his way. He turned the corner and cut through the crowd as easily as any other high school student, without a moment's hesitation, and ducked into the open doorway of The Torch. 

Chloe Sullivan sat at her desk, staring at the screen of her lime green IMac. Lex glanced over her shoulder and saw that she was creating a missing person poster. **_WANTED_ **  
ANY AND ALL INFORMATION ABOUT THE WHEREABOUTS OF CLARK KENT. LAST SEEN AT THE FRONT GATES OF SMALLVILLE HIGH ON MONDAY, MARCH 6th, AT 3 P.M. MISSING ENDANGERED/ABDUCTED 

Below those words was a color photo of Clark, taken only several weeks earlier for the yearbook. Clark's smile was self-conscious and shy, but his green eyes held a spark of good humor and keen intelligence that Lex had always found hard to resist. He sighed softly and took a few steps toward Chloe. 

"Hope I'm not interrupting." 

Chloe started and turned in her chair, the glow from the monitor illuminating the tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the heels of both hands in a savage gesture and tried to smile. 

"Hey Lex . . . come on in. I'm just-" She gestured to the monitor. "I'm making some flyers to put up around town, and maybe in Metropolis too." 

"That's really kind of you, Chloe." Lex said, and Chloe shrugged. 

"I just wanted to help out. The Kents are really worried and I didn't want them to have to think about doing something like this themselves." She turned back to the monitor and began to enter information about Clark's vital statistics and numbers to call if he was spotted. 

"Chloe, I hate to have to ask you this, but did you talk to Clark at all on the day he vanished?" 

Chloe nodded without looking at him, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Of course. We talk everyday. He comes in here all the time, either to work on his articles or to just hang out." 

"What I mean is did he say anything out of the ordinary to you? Did he seem angry, or did he tell you that he had argued with his father?" 

"No." Chloe shook her head slowly. "He didn't tell me anything like that, but then again Clark never was- _is_ " She corrected herself fiercely, "the kind to open up and spill his guts, even to his best friend." 

"Right." Lex smiled a little as Chloe began to print out the posters. "Here, give me a copy. I'll have several hundred more made, and I'll have my people put them up all over Metropolis. If Clark really has been abducted and he's still alive, that's probably where he is." 

Chloe handed him a copy of the canary-yellow flyer and wiped her face again with a half-hearted laugh. "I can't seem to stop this, Lex." She said softly, wiping her wet fingers pn her jeans. "Ever since his parents called on Monday night and asked me if I'd seen him, I just can't turn off my brain. I keep thinking about all the things I've read about young people that are kidnapped and I try not to put Clark into those situations in my mind, but it's like I can't help it, you know? I can't help thinking about where he might be, or if he's hurt somewhere, waiting for us to come find him, to come help him and find him like he's always found us-" Her last word caught on a gasping sob and she hid her face in her hands to cry. Lex stepped forward and embraced her. 

"I know it's hard, Chloe, but we're going to find him. Clark's a lot stronger than any of us give him credit for and I know that he's out there somewhere, still alive. And you're right, he's probably wondering if we're looking for him, and believe me, I won't rest until I've found him." 

Chloe sniffled and stepped back, looking mildly ashamed of herself. "Whoa." She said softly, attempting to laugh. "I hope I didn't stain that shirt because it looks like silk." 

Lex favored her with a smile. "Don't worry about it." He said softly, and held up the flyer. "I'll get right on this. Just hang in there Chloe. Clark's alive, and I'm going to bring him home." 

"Call me if I can help!" Chloe called after him as he left the office. She rose from the desk with one of the flyers in her hand, and pinned it to the bulletin board near the door. She touched the image of Clark's smiling face gently, and prayed that Lex had the power to return him to Smallville. 

* * *

Days went by. Clark's sense of time faded and then vanished altogether as he sat chained in the windowless basement. Most of the time he and the three other boys who were with him sat in the dark for hours. Samuels came three times a day; once in the morning to feed and bathe them, once in the afternoon to make a movie clip and then again in the evening to bring them food and water again. To discourage the boys from crying for help or perhaps planning a means to escape, Samuels kept them all gagged as well as shackled. 

With nothing else to do but stare into the dark and think, Clark pondered the loss of his powers. While it was obvious that Samuels had drugged him at the house, it still didn't explain their absence. He knew he'd been unconscious for quite a long time, and down in the dark basement just as long. He sensed that he was still in Metropolis, although he had no proof. 

_Samuels didn't know about my powers,_ Clark thought to himself as he tried to ignore the pain radiating through his jaw due to the heavy round ball gag in his mouth. _There's no way he could have known, but whatever he drugged me with must have knocked them out of commission._

He shifted uncomfortably and blinked, the constant near-darkness forcing his pupils open wide. He could see the vague shapes of the other boys, and the blond who Samuels had forced him to pleasure cried almost constantly. Clark wished he could comfort them, but communication was impossible. 

Mom and dad and my friends must be looking for me, Clark thought, and then thought of how he'd last left the house on Monday morning, without even saying good bye. Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away. 

_I don't even want the stupid truck anymore,_ Clark thought as he blinked away more tears. _I just want to go home._

The door to the basement banged open and Samuels came down the stairs with another young boy in tow. The small brunette seemed half conscious as Samuels dumped him in a corner and shackled him there. There was a quick gleam of metal, and Clark cried out through his gag in fright as a single gunshot echoed off the walls. The blonde's body jerked once, and then slumped against the wall. Samuels cut him down and wrapped him in a tarp as Clark sat watching with wide, tearful eyes. Samuels glanced at him in the near-darkness. 

"He was gettin' too old. Besides, I was sick of hearing his baby-whining all the time. Let that be a warning to the rest of you to keep quiet." He dragged the tarp across the floor and up the steps, the door clicking shut behind them. Clark hung his head in fear and grief for the slain boy. 

_I've never been afraid of dying before,_ he thought softly, _but I am now. God help me, I am so afraid._

* * *

The following Monday, after Clark had been missing for one week, Lex went to see his police contact in Smallville. The officer was young, had a large family, and was not adverse to making a bit of money on the side, as long as the information didn't corrupt his fellow officers or the department. Lex could understand his loyalty, and usually obliged him. Today, as they met in a small diner just outside Smallville, Lex had asked him to bring all the information and evidence pertaining to not only the recent abduction of Clark Kent, but of other recent kidnappings in the area. Officer Bishop brought these things in a plain brown paper bag, obviously nervous about having removed them from the evidence drawer. 

"I'm risking my ass, bringing you that stuff." Bishop said nervously as a waitress set a cup of coffee down in front of him. Lex favored him with a small smile. 

"Don't worry, Lieutenant Bishop. You'll be well compensated for your cooperation." Lex pulled the four separate evidence bags out and spread them out on the table. The bag labeled "Kent, Clark J." was mostly empty save for a recent report card and a photo of Clark. Lex touched the bag gently and tried to speak past the sudden thickness in his throat. 

"Was this it for Clark Kent?" He asked, and Bishop nodded. 

"Couldn't find much on him at all. It was like he dropped off the face of the earth." 

Lex looked over another bag with a photo of a young blond boy inside of it and glanced over the other contents. A high school ring, a scrap of blue cloth, and a folded yellow piece of paper that was crinkled with age. Lex noticed that the word DECEASED was stamped on the beige information tag stapled to the corner of the evidence bag. The red ink was smeared across the tag like blood. 

"This boy is dead?" Lex asked softly, and Bishop sipped his coffee. 

"His body was found partially dismembered and dumped near a construction site about a mile from Grandville two days ago. According to the autopsy, he'd been sodomized and otherwise sexually assaulted before he was killed by a single gunshot to the forehead at close range. His name was David Webster. Missing for over a year." 

"They were able to tell all of that with a partially dismembered corpse that was over a year old?" 

"No, Mr. Luthor. David Webster had been missing for over a year, but the body that we recovered had only been dead a day or so." 

Lex thought that over as he reached into the evidence bag and pulled out the folded piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully, mindful of its age, and read the bold printing aloud. "Young men wanted for advertising opportunity, no experience necessary. Make five hundred to one thousand dollars in one day! Future long-term employment possible. Apply in person, Rush Light Productions, Metropolis." Lex looked up at the cop. "I assume this was checked out?" 

"Of course. The mother found it in his room a few days after David vanished. He told his parents he was going to friend's house for the afternoon, but he never arrived. When we went to check out Rush Light Productions, we found that no such business existed and the address was an abandoned building. We searched the building, but there was no sign that anyone had been there for a long time. Probably just some fly-by-night modeling company that went bust. We're not even sure if the flyer has anything to do with the Webster boy's abduction." Bishop shrugged a little. "Guess now we'll never know." 

Lex wrote the address for Rush Light Productions on the back of a napkin and slipped it into his pocket. The cop frowned. 

"Mr. Luthor, that building was abandoned-" 

"I understand." Lex cut him off smoothly as he got up from the table. "Thanks once again for your cooperation, Lieutenant Bishop." Lex laid a ten dollar bill on the table for their waitress and slipped five one-hundred bills into the officer's pocket as he passed by. It was like a magician's illusion; the young policeman wasn't even sure that he'd seen Lex's hand move toward him and then he was gone, striding out of the diner with a sweep of leather and silk. 

Outside of the diner, Lex jumped into his silver Porsche and turned the engine over, his heart beating hard. The missing boy had been alive for over a year, no doubt held somewhere, until he'd somehow outgrown his usefulness and had been killed. As Lex turned onto the main highway that led to Metropolis, his keen mind began putting together pieces of the puzzle. 

Clark had argued with his parents that morning on the day he'd vanished about wanting money to buy a pickup truck. The ad on the flyer had offered five hundred to one thousand dollars in one day (a ridiculous claim, Lex thought personally,) and if Clark had seen one of these flyers, perhaps he had gone to Metropolis that very day to see if he could make some fast money in order to buy the truck. Was the flyer indeed the key to the puzzle, or was it just an old piece of paper locked up in a plastic bag of a dead boy's belongings? 

"Hang on, Clark." Lex said softly as he ignored the posted speed limit of sixty miles per hour and pushed the Porsche for all it was worth. "Hang on, I'm coming." 

* * *

On the tenth day of Clark's captivity, he awoke from an uncomfortable doze to find himself weak and dizzy. It seemed that with each passing day he spent in the dark the weaker he became, and he began to wonder in a muddled sort of way if the absence of light had anything to do with his condition. The cellar in which he now lived was without windows, and the only light that ever came into the room came with Samuels. 

"Business is booming, boys!" The cellar door opened and Samuels came strutting down the steps, his considerable belly jiggling underneath a fishnet tee-shirt that was a size too small. He flicked on the lights that he used when he made his films, and then turned toward Clark. "Seems I was right about you, Clark. After people saw you in my last film, traffic on my site nearly doubled, and there's people waiting in line right now to subscribe to my service." He leaned down and ran a hand through Clark's dark hair, and then removed his gag. 

"How old are you really, sweetheart?" 

Clark swallowed hard and struggled against his shackles. "I'll be sixteen next month. Mr. Samuels please-" 

"You're fifteen! My God . . . unbelievable." He crouched down, looking Clark in the eye. He saw the untested innocence there, the fear, and he grinned. 

"Know what else I know about you?" He asked softly, and Clark shook his head. 

"I know that you're a virgin." 

Clark flinched as he saw the predatory expression in Samuels' eyes. "No I'm not." He denied, shaking his head vehemently. "I've been with lots of women. Dozens!" 

Samuels threw back his head and laughed heartily, and then his expression changed quicker than a striking rattler. He reached out and clamped his hand around Clark's testicles, causing the boy to inhale sharply. The fat man grinned. 

"No one with any kind of experience is going to make a noise like that. Only virgins gasp when they're touched." He fondled the teenager gently. "Damn, boy . . . your curlies are softer than milkweed. We'll have to do you real special. Yeah . . . real special." He ran a finger along the cleft of Clark's ass, making him quiver with fear. The thought of the fat man climbing on top of him was too much to bear and tears came to his eyes. 

"Please Mr. Samuels . . . don't. Just please, let me go home. I won't tell anyone about you, I swear! Just let me go home and I'll forget I ever saw your face." 

"Don't you just wish." Samuels laughed as he got to his feet and busied himself with setting up his next video clip. "Business is good, hits and membership to my website is increasing, and I have you to thank for it, Clark." He grinned at the boy. "You just plan on sticking around here for a good long time." He used a pair of thick irons to shackle Clark's hands over his head, and then swung the adjustable spotlights that he used during filming to illuminate him. 

"Don't worry, Clark . . . for now it's just a little oral action. When I take your cherry, I promise you its going to be special." 

"No!" Clark screamed. His legs kicked weakly at the big man as he donned his leather mask and turned on the camera. He then grabbed a bottle of baby oil from a nearby table and slathered Clark's chest and legs, making his skin gleam in the lights. Clark cried and struggled as Samuels hunkered down between his legs and wrapped a big hand around his penis. He stroked the boy expertly, coaxing an erection from him, and then swallowed as much of the boy as he could. Clark closed his eyes and tried to mentally crawl into a corner of his mind where he would be safe, but the sensations between his legs were impossible to ignore. He moaned aloud without fully realizing it, and finally gave into the ministrations. In front of him, like a heartbeat, the red light on Samuels' camera continued to blink. 

* * *

It was dusk when Lex pulled up to the address that he had scrawled on the napkin during his meeting with Lieutenant Bishop. He slipped out of his Porsche and looked up at the house, which brooded like a large wounded animal in the purple twilight. The two story building had once been painted a sky blue, but now the paint was peeling in away in large, ugly patches, like open sores. The windows were boarded over, as was the front entrance. There had once been a door, but now it was missing, scavenged long ago by some boys for their clubhouse. Lex used a crowbar that he kept in the trunk of his car to pry one of the boards off of the windows. He lifted himself over the sill with the quiet grace of a young man who was used to sneaking in and out of places, and slipped inside the abandoned building. Once his feet hit the floor, he pulled a flashlight from his overcoat pocket and flicked it on. The circle of light showed a floor that was littered with trash, broken furniture, and a decade's worth of dust. Lex coughed lightly into his fist and shone the light around, his eyes scanning the building for any sign that might lead him to Clark. The beam from his flashlight briefly reflected off the gleaming eyes of a large rat that scuttled away into the dark recesses under the stairs as he approached. Lex frowned in disgust and shone his light up the stairwell. It looked rotted and rickety, the handrail partially pulled away from the wall. Lex turned and walked toward what looked like a dining room. There was more broken furniture in here as well as some discarded clothing and broken liquor bottles, signs that the place had once been inhabited by some homeless people. Beyond that was a medium-sized bathroom, it's floor crusted with mold, and after that, a living area. Lex stepped into it, his nose wrinkling at the foul odor of urine, booze and rodent crap. He shone the flashlight around in a slow, wide arc, and then suddenly the beam illuminated a wooden door on the far side of the room. He strode over to it and put his hand on the tarnished brass handle. He pulled hard, but it refused to budge. Lex peered closer and saw that door was painted shut. Lex tucked the long-handled flashlight under one arm and pulled the crowbar from his belt once more. With several solid blows he had the rusted hinges bent, and then he pried the door loose. It pulled free with a hellish shriek, and Lex paused as the beam of light was all but swallowed up in the complete darkness of that cellar. 

_I suppose there could be anything down there,_ Lex mused. _Anything at all. The cellar could be caved in for all I know. I would fall to my death and never be found._ He thought these things even as he descended the creaky cellar steps, and then suddenly it occurred to him that the police must have never broken into the cellar door when they'd investigated David Webster's death. The house had obviously not been entered in years and they had found nothing. Fearing that he, too, had hit a dead end, Lex stepped off the staircase and onto the greasy concrete floor of the cellar. It was not caved in as he had feared. In fact, there was a different odor here; and while it was not at all pleasant, it was much less fouler than the odor upstairs. Lex swung his flashlight beam in wide arc, his nose working, and realized with a kind of dawning amazement that the cellar looked lived in. There was a stack of folded green blankets in one corner, and the metallic skeletons of two small cots in the other. Beyond that the room was a bare box, and the slightly musky odor continued to assail Lex's nostrils as he prowled the basement. The gray pipes of the old furnace seemed to stretch out endlessly above him, like the legs of some unimaginable insect. As Lex took another step forward, his foot kicked something lightweight across the concrete floor. It went skittering away and he chased after it until he pinned it in the corner. He bent over and picked it up, his eyes flicking over it urgently. 

The object was a video tape. Most of it's tape had been pulled free of the casing, the film exposed, brittle and full of dry-rot. It's black plastic case gave no clue as to it's contents. There was no label of any kind. Lex turned it over and over in his hands, and then shone the light directly on the transparent square on the cassette's facing. There was less than five inches of tape wound around one white plastic wheel, and Lex's heart jumped. He tucked the tape inside his overcoat and glanced around the room. There was a wide wooden door at the opposite end, and Lex went over to it. It pulled open easily enough to reveal another staircase that led to set of metal doors that folded outwards. Those doors were chained from the outside, but Lex didn't need to open them to know that they led to the surface. 

"That's why they thought the house was abandonded." Lex said to himself. "This is how they came and went. And then after awhile they moved on . . . " Lex turned and thundered up the stairway. A few moments later he was in Porsche, screaming toward the main highway that would take him to his offices at LexCorp. There, he could have the remains of the tape analyzed. 

* * *

Samuels sat in the black swivel chair at his computer, pouring over the hits to his web site. There had been over two thousand hits that day, plus fifty-six new memberships at seven hundred dollars apiece, plus major access to his latest video clip, which had featured Clark Kent getting his first blow job. The boy was a veritable gold mine; Samuels' members-only message board was humming with enthusiastic feedback about the 'sweet dark-haired virgin. Perhaps he could charge double or even triple when he took Clark's virginity and uploaded the video, or perhaps- 

The email alert went off on Samuels' computer and he clicked his email icon. It opened instantly and Samuels snorted in annoyance when he saw that he'd been outbid for a high-tech sex toy on Ebay. He deleted the message and was about to move on when he suddenly sat up straight in the chair, his eyes wide. After a moment he began to laugh, and leaned his bulk back in the chair as he threw his head back and brayed laughter into the darkness, the glow from the computer bathing his face in a maniac light. 

"It's perfect. Oh my Christ, it's perfect!" Samuels said with glee. He switched quickly to his web publisher, created a new page, and began to type feverishly. With this one idea he would make more money than he had ever dreamed, quit the business, and retire to some small tropical island with an abundance of young boys to keep him sated. 

"Ohhh, Clark." Samuels whispered softly as he continued to type. "Oh, my sweet boy . . . you're about to make me rich!" 

* * *

Lex paced around his office, a glass of scotch in his hand. Nearly four hours had gone by, and he had yet to hear any results on the analysis of the tape he had found. He growled in frustration and went to the phone on his desk, about to give his computer techs thirty-six flavors of Luthor-brand holy hell when it rang suddenly. Lex didn't even startle. He scooped it up and spoke firmly. 

"What do you have for me?" 

"There's not much there, Mr. Luthor. What we've got is about fifteen seconds of blank tape and right before the end, a quick internet address is flashed, but that's it." 

"An internet address. Were you able to record it?" 

"The tape was extremely damaged sir, but we did manage to isolate it." 

"Give it to me." 

The tech read the address to Lex slowly, who wrote it down and snapped open his laptop. 

"Good work, Ian. Thank you." He hung up the phone, sent a memo to payroll ordering Ian's paycheck to be doubled for that week, and sat down at his desk. He pulled his laptop toward him and opened the browser, his heart hammering hard as he typed in the web address Ian had given him. He pushed the enter button, and a red screen with black lettering popped up. At first Lex thought it was an advertisement, but as he read it, he saw that it was a warning that the link he was about to follow contained sexual and adult content. He clicked on the enter button, and it took him to another screen that told him the page he wanted to enter was password protected for members only. There was a small link in the right hand corner that read 'join now.' Lex clicked it, and was amazed to see that the members-only site cost seven hundred dollars for a six month membership. The page gave little clue as to what he was buying, only that it would give him "Access to over 100 hours of live-action porn featuring young men," plus "an opportunity to purchase further products." Lex charged the membership to one of his many credit cards, was issued a password, and his hand trembled slightly as he logged onto the site. 

The room was suddenly filled with moans and whimpers, and Lex's hand shot out to turn down the speakers. He stared at the screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. The name of the site was called "The Underground Cradle," and it did indeed feature images of young men, boys, really- who were very obviously under the age of consent. 

"My God." Lex whispered. There were dozens of links that offered twenty-minute video clips that were made, according to the webmaster, 'with high quality equipment.' There was also an online store that offered still photos from each clip, at twenty dollars apiece. Each link was dated, and Lex clicked on the latest one, apparently made just that morning. 

The clip faded in on the image of a big man in a black leather mask. He was otherwise dressed in a fishnet shirt two sizes too small for him, and he was obviously aroused as he turned toward his partner, who was shackled to the wall with his hands over his head. The camera panned in close, and Lex lost his breath as he took in the dark tumble of curls, the frightened green eyes, the sharp, high cheekbones that were wet with tears. 

"Oh God. Oh God, Oh God . . . Clark." He whispered, and fury raced through his body as he watched the fat man in the mask assault his best friend orally. Clark writhed and sobbed under the onslaught, and Lex reached out to turn off his speakers as his stomach churned helplessly with disgust mixed with a kind if helpless arousal at the sight of Clark's nude body. 

"Clark . . . Jesus." He whispered, unable to look away from the act being played out before him. Clark appeared to be very weak, perhaps drugged, but he was obviously a prisoner. Rage clouded Lex's vision, and from that moment, the fat man in the mask was marked for death. 

The clip ended, and Lex reached for the touchpad when a message flashed across the screen. 

**_WANT MORE OF HIM?_ **

Then another. 

**_WANT IT ALL? CLICK HERE!_ **

Lex clicked, and the browser took him to a page that featured a large photo of Clark bound hand and foot, gagged with a ball gag and looking so terrified that Lex's throat closed. Under the photo it read: 

**ATTENTION UNDERGROUND DWELLERS! THE UNDERGROUND CRADLE'S NEWEST AQUISITION IS NOW UP FOR BIDS! BE THE FIRST TO PLACE YOUR BID ON THIS FRESH FIFTEEN YEAR OLD! NO SLOPPY SECONDS HERE! HIS TIGHT, UNSPOILED VIRGIN ASS CAN BELONG TO YOU TODAY!WINNING BIDDER WILL BE FEATURED IN A VIDEO CLIP ON THIS VERY SITE! BIDS BEING ACCEPTED FROM NOW UNTIL MIDNIGHT EST. CLICK HERE TO BID!**

Lex sat back in his chair, his head whirling. Not only was Clark being held by a pederast with an unsettlingly large fan following, he was now auctioning off Clark's virginity in some twisted Ebay-esque auction. Lex sat there, staring at the flashing "bid now" link. 

_I can't risk going to the police with this. The police in this city are just as incompetent as Sheriff Adams, and by the time they go through their procedures and policies, it'll be Clark's body parts shoved in a suitcase. I can't risk his life by waiting for them._ Lex shook his head slowly, and then considered the events that he might set in motion if he clicked that link. Then, after a moment, he sighed and reflected that sometimes you just had to choose between the lesser of two evils. 

With his expression somber and intent, Lex clicked the "bid now" button. 

* * *

At three minutes after midnight, Samuels opened up the mail browser that he kept under one of his many identities and sorted quickly through the ones that had come through the bidding link for the Kent kid's ass. There were ten bids. Of those ten, Samuels quickly deleted the ones that were under fifty-thousand dollars and began to open the remaining five. With every bid the dollar amount increased, and he began to grin. That tropical home was coming closer all the time. Samuels opened a bid from one of his newest members, a man who called himself Tuells. The message opened, and Samuels stared in disbelief. 

My bid is five million US dollars. If there is a higher bid, I will pay that amount twice over. Contact me immediately with directions to your studio. 

-Tuells. 

"Five million bucks!" Samuels shouted, and spun around in his swivel chair like a kid. "Five-fucking-million! Forget the house in the islands . . . with five million, I can buy the whole island and be a king!" He e-mailed Tuells back with directions, requested the money be brought in the form of a cashier's check, and then ran to the cellar. He thundered down the steps and turned the light on. The seven boys that were there blinked and regarded him with bleary eyes. Clark, chained in one of the corners, lifted his head slowly and looked up at Samuels with dull green eyes. Samuels grinned at him. 

"You just made me a millionaire, sweetie." He laughed. "A fucking millionaire! Tomorrow night, a man is coming to take your sweet little cherry, and after that, I'll never have to make another movie!" His gaze roved over the other boys. "Of course, that means the rest of you are out of a job . . . and shit out of luck." Samuels pulled his pistol from a nearby drawer and loaded it with six rounds, one for each boy. Clark began to struggle and shake his head emphatically, mumbling through his gag and pleading with Samuels with his eyes. Samuels hesitated, and then slipped then gun back into the drawer. 

"Guess you're right. We'll take care of it tomorrow. Maybe if the man who bought your ass will give me a few million more for the rest of you, I won't have to reload my gun." He laughed and tousled Clark's hair roughly before heading up the stairs again. 

"Night, boys. Get a good night's sleep, because after tomorrow you're going to be napping in the Metropolis landfill . . . all _over_ the Metropolis Landfill." The door shut, plunging the cellar into darkness once more. Most of the boys began to cry and Clark pulled at his shackles until his wrists bled, frantic at the thought of having been sold like some prize pony. He tired quickly, his strength bleeding out of him like sand through an hourglass. He slumped against the wall, the chain still in his hands, and began to cry. He couldn't save them. He couldn't save himself . . . and now it was clear that no one was coming to save him, either. Clark hung his head and wept into the dark. 

* * *

Lex stood in front of his full-length mirror and examined his reflection carefully. Outside, the sun was setting. In one hour he would be at the place where Clark was being held, and where he would kill the man who was holding him. 

Lex had no qualms about killing the man who had abducted Clark. To abduct his young friend was one thing, a crime that Lex might have been able to deal with, but what Lex had seen on the man's website the night before was a trespass he couldn't forgive. He had hurt Clark, hurt and frightened him, and for that, Lex would kill him. 

He turned back to the mirror. _Not the usual Saturday night fare,_ he thought to himself. He wore a pair of black denim jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and sneakers. He knew he was taking a risk by not hiding his bald head, for he and his father weren't exactly unknown in Metropolis. Lex was betting on the fact that internet-addicted child molesters weren't usually up on current events. If this man spent most of his time in a dark basement making films of underage boys, then Lex was willing to bet on the fact that the man didn't read the business section of The Daily Planet, and therefore wouldn't recognize him. It was a dangerous wager, but Lex thought that he looked more like an undercover cop than a millionare pervert with a wig on his head. 

Ten minutes later he was heading into the city, prepared to take one life to save another. 

* * *

Clark stared up at Samuels as the big man leaned over him with a bottle of musk and used it to perfume his naked body gently. He'd already been thoroughly bathed and scrubbed, and was now tied wrists and ankles to a large bed that Samuels had brought to the basement and assembled himself earlier in the day. Clark's legs were spread wide and secured tightly, and a curved cushion had been shoved under the small of his back, tipping him back slightly and lifting his buttocks. A small table had been set up next to the bed, and now as Clark watched, his captor set out a wide array of sex toys and lubricants for his guest. Clark was weaker than he had been in days, and it was now obvious that his special abilities came from the sun. He had been in the darkness for nearly three weeks now, and knew that if he remained there much longer, he would probably die. 

"Don't look so scared, sweetie." Samuels said as he stroked Clark's hair. It was drying on its own and curling around his ears and across his forehead in a wild tumble. "Really, you're so beautiful . . . I actually envy this lucky prick who's paying me to let him bust your cherry. At least I'm going to be able to watch, and make one last movie before I go into retirement." 

Clark tugged weakly at the chains that held him. "You can't do this. You can't just sell me off and murder six other boys." 

"Why not? I've gotten rid of other boys in the past. Lots of them. Every time I changed locations. I've been doing this for almost five years now kid, and I've never been caught. What does that tell you?" 

"That you're a sick pervert, and a murderer." Clark replied, and Samuels laughed as he went over to set up his movie equipment. 

"That might be, honey, but I'm a sick pervert murderer who's about to make a lot of money." 

"Let me go!" Clark cried, and Samuels looked up as there was a knock on the door upstairs. 

"There's your mystery date, beautiful. Let me go let him in." Samuels ran up the stairs. He opened the door, and tried not to grin as the man who was going to make him rich looked him up and down from the porch. He didn't look as Samuels had expected. He had expected an older man, a rich, eccentric pervert with perhaps a beard. The man standing in front of him was dressed mostly in black, looked to be in his twenties, and was completely bald. Samuels frowned. 

"Mr . . .Tuells?" 

"Of course." Lex took several steps forward until the fat man backed up and let him in. He shed his overcoat and laid it over a nearby chair. "Where's the boy?" 

"I'm going to need the check first as we discussed over e-mail, Mr. Tuells." Samuels responded with a frown. The young man smirked. 

"Yes, of course." He pulled a cashier's check from his pocket and handed it over to Samuels, who grinned widely and pocketed it with the air of a dog burying a very large bone. 

"The boy?" 

"Oh! Yes, right . . . right down here." He lead the young man into the basement and over to the bed where Clark lay trapped. Lex gathered himself mentally and looked down into Clark's face. Clark blinked up at him in the dim light of the basement, and Lex saw a dull recognition flare in his eyes. Lex reached down and stroked his head, praying that Clark wouldn't cry his name and blow his cover. His eyes roved over Clark's naked body, and a part of him couldn't deny the arousal that he felt. The other part of his mind noted his friend's weakness, the welts on his wrists and ankles, and the unnatural paleness of his skin. Each mark on the long, sweet body boded a mark of pain tenfold for Samuels. Lex would see to it. He cleared his throat softly. 

"He's even more exquisite than he was in your movies, Mr. Samuels. Speaking of which, to film us won't be necessary. I don't wish to be photographed." 

Samuels frowned. "I had people willing to pay me for the video." 

"Five million dollars doesn't cover your losses?" Lex asked sharply, and then turned to Clark as his young friend began to groan and struggle against his restraints. 

"Lex!" He cried softly, and Lex snapped his fingers. "Give me something to gag the boy with. I won't have him moaning some other man's name while I'm with him." 

Samuels handed Lex the ball gag and Lex slipped a hand under Clark's head. Clark looked up at him with disbelief and betrayal as he slipped the gag between his teeth, forcing his already aching jaw wide. 

"Hrfff!" He pleaded, and Lex stroked the tumble of dark curls gently. They were softer than the finest silks that hung in Lex's walk-in closet at the mansion. Samuels stood nearby, leering in lustful anticipation, and Lex favored him with an amiable smile. 

"Are you pleased at your profit, Mr. Samuels?" 

"More than you know, Mr. Tuells." Samuels grinned back, and out of corner of his eye, Lex saw Clark's eyes widen in confusion at the name. Lex slipped a hand into his pocket and his fingers closed around cool, hard steel. 

"I'm glad to hear it." Lex's hand rose from his pocket with the speed of a striking adder, and the blade of a gleaming sharp butterfly knife bloomed from it's steel handle like a deadly silver rose. "It's a rare man who dies truly happy." The blade flashed, and a gaping wound opened in Samuel's throat from ear to ear. He made a whistling, gurgling noise as blood gouted from the wound. Lex stepped back as it splattered on the concrete floor. His blue gray eyes were impassive and cool as the fat man fell to his knees, his hands reaching out to grasp at nothing as his life's blood ran from his body. He fell to one side, his body jerking like a gutted fish, his heels beating out a brief and uneven rhythm on the floor. Finally he stilled, and Lex wiped the blade clean on the dead man's shirt before flipping it closed and pocketing it once more. He plucked his check from Samuels' pocket and slipped it into his own beside the knife. He then looked down at Clark, whose green eyes seemed as big as dinner plates. He reached down and removed the gag, and then began to untie the ropes that held Clark to the bed. Clark gasped as the gag was removed. 

"Lex!" 

"It's me, Clark." His friend smiled, and helped the youth to sit up as the last of the ropes fell away. Clark stared down at Samuels' dead body and the thick spreading red stain that was pooling around the body. 

"You killed him." Clark said softly as he looked up at Lex, who only nodded. 

"Truth be told he deserved a much slower death for what he did to you and all those other boys, but time was of the essence." He found a pile of clothing in the corner and pawed out one of Clark's flannel shirts, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "Come on. Let's get you dressed and get you the hell out of here." 

"There's six other boys down here." Clark said softly as Lex dressed him as if he were a small child. He pointed weakly as Lex tugged the t-shirt over his head. Lex looked over his shoulder at a small wooden door that was only about four feet high. He went over to it and yanked it open to reveal the five boys crammed inside the crawl space shoulder to shoulder. The space itself reeked of fear, blood and urine. Lex began to pull them out one by one, each of them bound and naked. They begged him for their freedom as he sat them in a circle and began to free them one by one, using his knife on the most stubborn knots. Finally, when they were all free, Lex searched the basement for clothing and blankets with which to cover them. 

"It's going to be all right now." He told them all as he looked the group over. He judged the oldest of them to be perhaps a year older than Clark, the youngest no more than fourteen. Lex pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and flipped it open. "I'm going to call the police and tell them where to find you. Samuels is dead, and you don't have anything more to fear from him. I'm afraid that I can't be here when the authorities arrive, but if they ask, just tell them that a man named Tuells gave Mr. Samuels there exactly what he deserved." Lex dialed the police, gave them the address of the house, and then hung up before they could ask him for any more information. He helped Clark to his feet and headed up the stairs with the boy's arm slung over his shoulders. As Lex helped him get into the Porsche, Clark looked up at him. 

"Tuells?" 

Lex smiled a little as he keyed the engine into life and sped down the road as the wail of police sirens sounded in the distance. '  
"It was a chat room alias I once used when I was much younger. It's a play on the words 'two l's'. As in Lex Luthor." 

"Oh." Clark replied faintly, and his eyes slipped closed of their own accord as Lex drove toward Smallville. 

* * *

Jonathan sat up in his bed out of a sound sleep as the purr of a high-performance motor drifted in through the half-open bedroom window. Martha stirred beside him, her voice thick with sleep. 

"Jonathan? What is it?" 

Jonathan swung his legs out of the bed and reached for his plaid robe without answering his wife. His heart began to race as he jogged out into the hall and thumped down the stairs. Martha followed. 

"Jonathan?" 

The clock on the mantle read 4:17 a.m. Outside, a car door slammed, and then another. Jonathan ran to the door and yanked it open as he flicked on the porch light at the same time. The flood of light illuminated the two silhouetted figures that stood there, and Jonathan let out a cry of joy and relief as Lex looked up at him, his arms all but supporting Jonathan's son. 

"Clark!" Jonathan shouted, and Martha's cry sounded behind him at the sight of Lex and her son in the doorway. Jonathan stepped forward and swept Clark into his arms, carrying the boy over to the couch as if he weighed less than a small child. Martha followed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she motioned for Lex to come inside with them. 

"Lex, how on earth?" She whispered as she knelt down by her half-conscious son, and Jonathan stroked Clark's face and hair. Lex remained standing, his expression somber and shuttered. 

"I managed to find him thanks to some computer techs of mine who found the remains of an old videotape in an abandoned house where another boy was murdered. The man who murdered that boy was also holding Clark prisoner, as well as six other boys. I imagine they've found the house by now, I made the call over two hours ago." 

"Someone was holding him prisoner?" Martha asked, her lips trembling, and Lex nodded. 

"I'm afraid so. You don't have to worry any more about him, though. He's been punished for his crimes." 

Martha looked up at the older boy with wide eyes, but his expression gave away nothing. A moment later Clark moaned softly, and Jonathan patted his cheek gently. 

"Clark? Son? Come on, talk to me." He said firmly, and Clark's green eyes sharpened briefly at his father's voice. They roved briefly around the room and then fixed upon Jonathan and his mother. A moment later they filled with tears. 

"Mom . . . dad!" He cried, and Jonathan helped him to sit up. The three of them embraced, their tears mingling together, and Martha pushed her son's dark hair back from his eyes. 

"Clark, we were so worried!" 

"What happened, son? Where were you?" Jonathan asked, and Clark wiped his eyes. 

"I don't know. In Metropolis somewhere. This man . . . " Clark hesitated, now ashamed of running off without telling anyone because of the fight that he'd had with his father over the pickup. "There was a flyer on one of the trees outside of school that said this company in Metropolis was looking for people for their advertising business and that I could make a lot of money in one day. I thought that if I went there and made enough money to pay for the down payment on the pickup I wanted that you wouldn't be able to say no." 

"Clark." Jonathan said softly, and his eyes were bright with tears. Clark looked up at him. 

"I know I shouldn't have gone to Metropolis without telling anyone, but I thought it would be a snap to make the money and be back home before supper. Instead, the man who ran this 'company' drugged me with a spiked soda and the next thing I knew I was chained up in his basement with six other boys." 

Jonathan nodded a little and Clark could see the questions in his eyes, questions that he couldn't ask in front of Lex. Finally, he touched Clark's face with his big, work-roughened hands. 

"All that matters is that you're home with us again." He said softly, and Clark looked up at Lex. 

"You can thank Lex for that. He saved me, and the other boys too." 

Jonathan rose to his feet and stared at Lex. The young billionaire stared back impassively, not expecting much from the taciturn farmer. Jonathan took a few steps and Lex was stunned into paralysis as the big man embraced him. 

"Mr. Kent-" He began softly, but Jonathan shook his head. 

"Just hush up and let me say what I have to say. I don't know how we can ever repay you for bringing Clark home. The police were at a dead end, and they had already hinted to us that Clark had probably already been murdered and that there was little more they could do. We laid awake for nights on end, wondering if we'd ever see him again and now- now you've brought him home, and safe. Thank you, Lex. Thank you." Jonathan hugged him again and then stepped back. Lex had barely recovered from the man's unprecedented show of emotion when Mrs. Kent embraced him, her tears wetting his t-shirt. 

"Mr. Kent is right, Lex. The police were urging us to give up hope after only a few days, but we never did. We kept praying that something would bring Clark home to us." She smiled up at her husband. "Looks like our prayers were answered." 

"I'm just grateful that I was able to find him before something terrible happened." Lex replied, and Clark's eyes met his at the statement. That one look told Clark that Lex had seen the videos on Samuels' website, and Clark's face reddened with humiliation. Lex shook his head slowly. _Not now,_ the gesture said. Clark laid his back down on the couch and closed his eyes, still exhausted from his ordeal. With his parent's sweet voices acting as a lullaby, Clark slipped into a deep, healing and peaceful slumber that would last more than thirty hours. As he slept, the story of the child pornography ring in which he had been an unwilling participant broke all over the country. 

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

Clark stood at the open doors of his loft, one hand on his telescope as he gazed up at the twilight sky. The sun had just set, leaving behind a sliver of orange and red that reflected briefly along the steel body of Clark's telescope before fading into the purples and blues of the evening. Clark sighed softly and paced moodily around the loft, his thoughts chasing each other in circle. 

After the Metropolis Police had responded to Lex's anonymous call and had found the other boys in addition to Samuels' body, the case had progressed quickly to a close. Those among the living were returned to their loved ones, questioned, and then left to whatever inner demons would come to plague them in the aftermath. Those that Samuels had killed, five in all, were discovered in the various abandoned houses he had used in the past or in nearby areas. The bodies were returned to their families who no doubt grieved, and Samuels was buried in an unmarked plot courtesy of the state. The web site was permanently shut down, it's sponsors hunted as they scattered to the web like roaches startled by bright light, and the contents of Samuels' basement were taken into police custody. 

As for Clark, he tried to go on as if the incident had never happened, but now his life was like an old coat that no longer fit. He often woke up in the middle of the night, his body in a cold sweat as he felt Samuels' hands on him. In other dreams it was Lex that stood over him, his pale skin gleaming with sweat, his breath hot on Clark's naked skin. Clark always awoke from those dreams breathing hard and painfully erect, and usually laid awake the rest of the night wondering if it had been his own delirium that had caused him to see the desire in Lex's eyes that night in the cellar, or if it had truly been there. His powers had returned slowly as he spent hours in the sun and recharged himself like a solar battery, but no matter how much he tried to return to his normal life, his dreams held sway over his reality. 

"Lex." He sighed softly, and was startled when his friend's honey-smooth voice answered him from the top of the loft stairs. "I'm here, Clark." 

Clark whirled around to see Lex regarding him from a few feet away, dressed in a light blue pullover sweater, brown slacks and his long black overcoat. His hands were shoved deep into the coat pockets, his expression intent as he stared at his younger friend. 

"Everything all right?" He asked, and Clark nodded. 

"Sure. I mean, I guess so." He shrugged, and motioned for Lex to sit down on the couch. Lex accepted, and Clark sat down on the opposite end. 

"You guess so." Lex echoed, and Clark shrugged. 

"There's a lot of stuff you never told me . . . about that night." 

"I thought it best if I gave you your space, considering how I found you." 

"No, Lex . . . " Clark turned toward him. "If it hadn't been for you I'd still be in that basement, doing God knows what for God knows who, and those other boys might be dead! You saved us all, Lex, and I don't even remember if I thanked you!" 

"You thanked me." Lex smiled, greatly pleased when Clark blushed and smiled back. If the boy's innocence had been the price of his teenage pride, Lex didn't think he would have been able to bear it. 

"Good." Clark nodded as his blush slowly bled away. It was quiet for a moment, and then Clark spoke quietly. 

"Lex?" 

"What is it, Clark?" 

"Did . . . " Clark's voice failed him and he tried again. "When you found Samuels' website and those videos . . . did you watch them?" 

Lex hesitated, and then nodded slowly. 

"Yes, Clark, I did. I wanted to know exactly what I was dealing with and how to get you back." 

"Was that the only reason?" Clark ventured carefully, not meeting his friends eyes as he clasped his hands together and shoved them deep into the folds of his plaid overshirt. Lex could almost hear doors opening and he held his breath with the fear that they would slam shut just as quickly. 

"Clark." He said softly, almost as a warning, and the boy shrugged a little. 

"When I was laying in that bed and I came around to see you standing over me, you had this strange look on your face. I knew you had come for me, but for a second . . . just for a second . . . I thought you-" He shifted his weight and inched closer to his friend. Lex's heart seemed to pause in his chest. 

"You thought what, Clark?" He whispered, and Clark shot him a quick, skittish glance out from under his thick, long lashes. 

"I thought that maybe you had come for another reason. That maybe that check was real, and that you . . . you really had paid Samuels five million dollars for me." 

For a moment the air around them was so thick with physical chemistry that Lex could taste it on his tongue. He smiled a little and shifted closer to Clark. They now sat less than six inches apart. 

"Clark, I would never force anyone into sharing physical pleasure with me. I've never paid for it, and I never would. What Samuels did to you and those other boys was wrong, no matter what he told you. You understand that, don't you?" 

"Yeah." Clark sighed, and then slid his gaze over to finally meet Lex's. "Lex . . . please tell me the truth. Was what I saw that night in your eyes real?" 

Lex shuddered and felt himself grow impossibly hard as he looked into his young friend's wide green eyes. They were questioning and curious and reaching out somehow, as if inviting Lex into something that he didn't fully understand, but could sense all the same. Lex responded, holding his friend's gaze, caressing his features with it. 

"It was real, Clark. Believe me, it was real." He said, his voice slightly hoarse as he negated the remaining space between them and touched his lips to Clark's. 

The effect was akin to being struck by lightning. Clark whimpered slightly and leaned forward, intensifying the kiss. Lex's hands slid up and cupped Clark's face, his erection throbbing painfully underneath his slacks. He kissed the boy again and again, tasting him, claiming him. Clark surrendered, his long lean body falling back slightly so that his head rested against one of the arms of the old couch, his green eyes bright and dreamy under the lights his father had strung for him so many summers ago. Lex leaned over him, his own eyes gleaming and predatory, the hunger in them belied by affection. 

"Clark." He said softly, and the young boy looked up at him. He could see the unspoken words in Lex's eyes and shook his head. 

"It's not the same thing, Lex. You're not forcing me. Please . . . show me that it doesn't have to hurt." 

Tears came to Lex's eyes at his words and he cradled Clark gently, as if he were fine china instead of a husky teenager that was well over six feet tall. 

"I'm sorry it happened, Clark . . . I'm so sorry that it happened. If I could take back what he did to you, I would." 

"You can. Just- please Lex . . . please." Clark begged softly, unable to put into words what he wanted. 

Lex understood. One hand went to Clark's belt and began to unbuckle it while the other unbuttoned his own slacks and kicked them off. Lex's eyebrows raised in surprise when Clark lifted his hips off up the couch in order to aid Lex in removing his jeans. He shrugged off his overcoat and removed Clark's overshirt with exquisite care, which left him in his red t-shirt and white briefs. Clark's long eyelashes swept down in anticipation as Lex's pale hand slid up his inner thigh and cupped him through his underwear. Clark gave a low, wavering cry, and Lex began to stroke him gently through the cotton material. Clark's mouth dropped open in a gasp and Lex pulled the underwear down, revealing the hard, throbbing flesh beneath. Clark's eyes opened halfway, and they gleamed like cat's eyes. Lex smiled up at him. 

"So beautiful." He sighed, and lowered his mouth to Clark's erection. Clark's hips bucked upward as Lex swallowed his flesh, and a cry escaped his throat. 

"Oh Lex, oh God!" 

Lex formed a tight seal around Clark's hot flesh and began to bob his head quickly, sliding his tongue over the stiff organ again and again, his lips sliding along it smoothly. Clark writhed and moaned, his head whirling. *It doesn't have to hurt, it doesn't it doesn't . . . * He thought with a kind of euphoria as Lex sucked him. A moment later his thoughts blew apart and spun in all different directions as an orgasm that stole his breath rose up and claimed him with its intensity. He cried out hard and spilled his hot seed into Lex's mouth, who swallowed it eagerly. Finally, he slumped back, the long muscles in his inner thighs trembling, and Lex leaned over to kiss his belly, which quivered with aftershocks. 

"Good?" He asked, and Clark smiled a lazy, contented smile. A moment later he sat up, his green eyes roving all over Lex's body. Lex shook his head. 

"Clark . . . you don't have to." 

"And you've already shown me that." Clark said softly as he reached over and began to tug at Lex's sweater with movements that were both inexperienced and endearing. Lex chuckled and yanked the sweater off, revealing a lean yet powerful body covered with pale, smooth skin. Clark swallowed hard as he took in the sight. Lex gave him a beatific smile, and Clark reached out with one big hand. He placed it over Lex's heart, feeling it thump steadily. 

"Your heart." He smiled, and leaned forward as Lex closed his eyes. He touched his lips to one of Lex's pinkish-brown nipples and Lex inhaled sharply. Encouraged, Clark closed his lips over the rapidly stiffening nub and sucked hard, his other hand coming up to rub and gently finger the other nipple. 

"God, Clark." He whispered, his voice hoarse with desire, and Clark sucked until Lex growled low in his throat and pushed him away. Clark only backed off a moment before he waded in again, pushing Lex back with both hands until he was laying against the couch cushions. With a clumsiness that only belongs to a virgin, Clark fumbled Lex's underwear down and tossed them aside. He was panting hard, his sides heaving, and his green eyes flared with desire as he took in Lex's reddish curls and the light dusting of gingery hair on his pale legs. He smiled almost shyly. 

"I didn't think-" 

"You thought I'd be bald there too?" Lex asked with a grin. "I was affected by the meteor shower, Clark, but I went through puberty just like everyone else." 

Clark chuckled, but then his face grew sober as he reached out and touched the head of Lex's cock, which was throbbing and weeping pre-seminal fluid. It bubbled from the tip, drop after drop, and Clark leaned down carefully. The expression on his face was so incredibly erotic that Lex struggled not to come before his young lover touched him. 

"Clark . . . Clark . . . " He groaned, and Clark's pink tongue flicked out to lap up a drop of fluid as it beaded at the tip of his erection. His head dropped back and he groaned softly as Clark leaned forward and took as much of Lex as he could into his inexperienced mouth. Lex knew that Clark had only done this once before, and that time had been against his will. Despite that no doubt horrible experience Clark threw himself into the task with all his effort this time, gentle yet eager, and Lex reached down to stroke the dark head. He wound his fingers gently around the boy's ebony curls, and they felt like corn silk between his fingers. Strangely, the feel of them was somehow more erotic than Clark's mouth upon him. 

"Umm." Clark moaned softly, and then pulled away from Lex. Lex sat up a little, concerned. 

"Clark? Are you all right?" 

Clark nodded, his lips slightly swollen, his eyes bright and wanting. They bored into Lex's, and for a moment Alexander Luthor never felt so completely exposed in all his life. All the walls were down. He saw the desire clearly in Clark's eyes, but knew that the boy truly didn't know what he was asking. 

"Lex, I . . . I want . . . " 

Lex sat up and drew the younger boy into his arms. Clark went willingly enough, and rested his head on Lex's bare chest. 

"You're not ready." He said simply, and Clark looked up at him. 

"Shouldn't that be my decision, Lex?" 

"I think it's a decision that we should make together." Lex replied, and held up a hand when he saw anger flash in Clark's eyes. "Hear me out, Clark." He held the boy against his chest and played with his hair as he spoke. 

"When I saw what Samuels had done to you, I was horrified that he might have also taken the one thing that you would never have been able to replace. Then, when I saw that he was trying to auction that thing off, I was angry, but I was also relieved." 

"Relieved?" Clark asked softly, and Lex nodded. 

"Clark, I think it's clear by now that I've had feelings for you for quite a long time. I've never been able to admit those feelings before because you were so obviously young." 

Clark sat up and turned to look Lex in the eye. "Are you saying that I'm a different person now just because of what happened to me?" He demanded. 

"Oh God, no!" Lex exclaimed, and cupped Clark's face in both hands. "Clark no . . . I'm not doing this because I think you're damaged goods or anything, or because I think your experience changed you in any way!" He kissed Clark gently and prayed for the wary look to leave the boy's eyes. "I'm admitting my feelings because what happened to you made me see that we're never as secure as we realize." 

"What do you mean?" Clark asked. 

"What I mean is that I never expected to get a phone call from your mother telling me that you were missing and that there was no trace of you. Clark- after I got that call, it was like my heart stopped beating. I kept on living, but there was nothing left inside." He leaned forward and touched Clark's forehead with his. 

"This isn't about sex, Clark. Or at least its not _just_ about sex." Lex touched Clark's lips with his own, and offered the boy his soul. 

"I love you." 

The green eyes rose and locked with Lex's for what seemed to Lex like an eternity. Clark's eyes truly were windows, and Lex saw him run a gauntlet of emotions before they settled again. 

"Want to know what I think?" He asked softly, and Lex nodded. 

"I don't think that anything that feels like this does can be wrong." He said, and Lex's heart filled with hope. 

"It feels right . . . like two pieces of something fitting together." Clark continued, and then he leaned forward to give Lex a shy yet eager kiss. Lex nodded and blinked back tears. 

"Yes, Clark." 

"It might not be easy though." Clark said softly. "There's . . . things you don't know about me." 

"Time is the great equalizer, Clark. In time, we'll know each other completely. The rest will come with trust and mutual understanding." 

Clark nodded. "I want to be with you, Lex. It feels right being with you." Clark scooted down and began to worship Lex's half-hard cock with his tongue again, and the organ instantly sprang back to life. Lex closed his eyes and melted into Clark's touch, his eyes closing as his young lover drove him toward climax. A warm breeze blew through the loft doors and Lex turned his head toward it as he opened his eyes. The night sky was bright with an infinite number of stars and a fat pale moon. Lex felt his heart beat in rhythm with Clark's steady sucking, and he put a hand on the dark, bobbing head. 

_I killed for him,_ Lex thought, _and I have no doubt that I would do it again. He was afraid to return my declaration of love, but that will come in time. He's been hurt and so have I . . . but together, we will heal._

Lex's deep breathing and the scent of the two boys' passion filled the hayloft as the moon rose outside, illuminating them. Lex smiled and leaned his head back, knowing that if he had his way, the warm rays of the morning sun would find them in a similar embrace. 

**THE END**


End file.
